Shit Deep
by windlily
Summary: It doesn't take much for Izaya to plant his roots in Masaomi's mind. Just some good, old fashioned fertilizer.


"_Where there is a stink of shit, there is a smell of being."_

_Antonin Artaud_

* * *

**Shit Deep**

* * *

Shit.

This was the foremost thought in Kida Masaomi's mind as he stumbled down a deserted alley.

He felt like shit. He must have looked like shit. And he was pretty sure he just stepped in shit.

This didn't stop the boy though. It just gave him something on which to focus as his shoulder hit the dirty brick wall beside him. He used the uncomfortable support to push himself forward another few steps, but inevitably he found himself leaning against it again, unable to support his own weight.

Yellow fabric was tied proudly around his forearm, but it was drizzled in blood when the middle school delinquent shook thick, gooping liquid from his brow. The cut above his eye still hadn't stopped bleeding. His sides ached to the bone and forced him to hunch over in order to avoid a fiercer, biting pain. Cuts and developing bruises were everywhere, but he probably needed some heavy-duty stitches in his calf, what with the way the flesh on each side of the gash seemed to fold over itself and gush anew with every tentative step.

He wouldn't get them though. Stitches. Any hospital would have to call his parents, and like hell would they pay the medical bills for their classy screw up of a son.

That was okay. It just meant he had to get back to base camp and fix himself up there. He was the one who had started the fight anyway. That bastard had attacked two of his friends. He got what was coming to him. The problem had arisen when it turned out that the bastard had friends too.

Masaomi's thoughts were interrupted when the dull glow from one of the streetlights in front of him blacked out. No, something was blocking it. He looked up, vision in one eye a red, foggy mess. Even so, there was no mistaking that poised silhouette nor the condescending voice echoing outward from the alley entrance.

"Ah, Masaomi-kun~ I thought I'd find you here. Did someone mistake you for trash and throw you into the dumpster?"

Orihara Izaya.

"You should see the other guy." It was Masaomi's only retort, complete with hazed chuckle.

"Oh, but I did. He couldn't even move, you know. He was crying like a baby. That's the Yellow Scarves' amazing, little leader for you."

The informant's voice always had this decisively cruel lilt to it. Masaomi wasn't sure he could describe it in his current state. It was as if everything amused him, even being unamused. As the man tip-toed closer to the injured gang leader in a childish dance, Masaomi decided that this lilt was just another thing he did not like about him.

"Why do you do that?"

"Hmm~? Do what?" Izaya asked with a smirk, stopping a few feet short of Masaomi.

The boy glared up at him, but the effect was greatly diminished when he could barely keep both eyes open. It wasn't like he could do anything to the man. He couldn't even run away. Izaya knew that. That was why he was here, smiling like that, back straight and looking down on the hunched figure before him.

"Why do you say compliments like they're insults?"

Izaya was quiet for one blissful second, mild surprise rounding his eyes. Then he laughed, a big, booming laugh aimed toward the heavens.

"Saki-chan asked me the same thing when we first started talking! You want to know what I told her?"

Suddenly the man was in Masaomi's face, teeth glinting as he shoved his hands into his jacket pockets. Masaomi didn't flinch, and Izaya took that as a yes.

"I love humans! You don't know how wonderful they are! They're so unpredictable, not like books or movies at all! But I don't love any one human. That's the most important part. I love all of humanity! I suck humanity right out of people so that I can consume it! I won't lie about it. Not to someone like you anyway." He laughed, standing up straight once again and spreading his hands, and thus his jacket, before his immobile audience. "It's funny, everyone's reactions, so I laugh at them. If I don't love any one person, then why should I compliment them? I'll insult the person in order to nurture their humanity. That's the best way to do it, don't you think, Little Shogun~?"

Masaomi gritted his teeth. Yes. There was absolutely nothing likable about this man. He couldn't understand what Saki saw in him, and he didn't want to.

"I think I want to punch you."

Somehow, Izaya's grin widened.

"Masaomi-kun is always so interesting!" he cooed, much to Masaomi's chagrin. "That's why I like you. You're a humanity magnet."

The young gang leader nearly lost his footing. The only thing between him and a nasty fall was Izaya's hand gripping the yellow fabric around his arm.

"Did that surprise you?" Izaya asked, as if he didn't know the answer.

Masaomi yanked himself out of his benefactor's grip, and he let go without a fuss, hands up Like Masaomi was pointing a gun at his chest. With his shoulder back against the wall and Izaya having retreated a step, the boy felt slightly safer.

"The hell are you talking about?" he scoffed with a defiant, crooked half-smile. "This magnet is chicks only."

"You smell like shit, Masaomi-kun."

Masaomi stilled, pain willed away by a sudden wave of indecision. What was he on about now?

"It's not surprising. You're always in deep shit. Such a naughty brat. Obviously you'd smell like it."

"I don't give a shit."

The man cackled as he began circling his prey.

"Of course not, Masaomi-kun~ You never give any; you take it. Masaomi-kun takes everybody's shit, and with his false Midas touch, he makes them think it's gold. Everyone flocks to Masaomi-kun because he's such a great kid. He cares so much because nobody cares about him, not even him." A pointed giggle. "And nobody realizes how backwards it all is; nobody realizes that Masaomi-kun never asked for any of it~ But without even trying, you gathered an entire nest of humanity around you, stagnating pitifully as it dries and flakes in the hot, hot sun, spreading its reek.

"I must admit, I'm a little jealous."

"No way," Masaomi instantly denied. He didn't trust Izaya. He definitely didn't believe the man who had Saki on such a fatal leash could be jealous of him, some middle school punk with a bit of misplaced charisma. The boy sighed heavily before straightening out just enough to attempt walking again. Blood was now pooling in his sneakers, he could feel it soaking in. "Just... fuck off, Izaya-san. I'm getting a headache."

Izaya did move at that, but not where Masaomi wanted him to. The unforgettable man in his fur trimmed coat and his condescending smirk moved directly into Masaomi's path.

"But if I left now, what would have been the point of coming here? Didn't I say I was looking for you?"

Masaomi couldn't think straight, and that only pissed him off more. "Get out of my way," he demanded coldly, voice gravelly and on the edge of slurring.

Orihara Izaya stayed firmly in place.

Out of frustration, Masaomi pushed off of the wall and tried to storm around the human roadblock, but the pain in his calf tripped him up, and he found himself once again trapped in the informant's grip. The gang leader kicked at the ground in helpless rage, growling through clenched teeth, but Izaya was still only amused by his pain. Getting mad was so pointless around this asshole. Was that why he bred hatred so readily? Once Masaomi managed to contain his outburst, he glared daggers at the ground.

"You're not going to leave until I let you help me, are you?"

"Saki-chan would never forgive me if I left her favorite, little shogun all alone and injured in a dark alleyway, so I came to pick you up! Free of charge~ I even know a doctor who will stitch you up no questions asked. I'll pay the fee if you'll trade me some quality information later. That's not a bad deal, right?"

How like Izaya to say "free of charge" and "if you'll trade me" all in the same breath. Masaomi didn't want to owe Izaya anything, least of all information, but he couldn't see any other way out of this either.

"Fine," he conceded quietly.

"Yaaaay~" Izaya mock cheered before abruptly turning his back to the Yellow Scarves Shogun. "Piggy back ride for Masaomi-kun!"

"Wh-What the hell, bastard?!"

"Is Masaomi-kun blushing?" the informant questioned teasingly. Masaomi sure as hell hoped he wasn't. "I already called a cab, but we'll just keep them waiting if you keep trying to walk on that leg."

With grudging dignity, Masaomi bit down on his pride and wrapped his arms around Izaya's neck. He promptly buried his face in the man's jacket hood as Izaya carefully handled his legs so that the pain was minimal. The informant wasn't comfortable. Bony shoulders reminded Masaomi of the brick that had supported him earlier. But Izaya, at least, seemed content to be quiet for this part. Masaomi couldn't decide whether that was better or worse. As the victorious informant began the trek to their cab, the silence gave his passenger time to think.

Everything about Orihara Izaya hit raw nerve after raw nerve, but the undeniable truth was that when Masaomi was bleeding out in a back alley alone, Izaya was the only one who had found him. The only one who could have found him. He could have had his fun and left him there, and no one else would have disturbed his body that night.

It took a rare kind of person, he decided, to stab at his very existence, to shove the needle into flesh and then proceed to agitate it just because he could. But it took a rarer kind to still help him after doing it. It wasn't a friend or an ally. Not an enemy or a rival. But maybe, he thought, as blood soaked Izaya's hood and Masaomi barely heard a car door open through his fading consciousness, maybe it was something like a really annoying older brother.

And maybe it wouldn't be the end of the world if Masaomi took his shit for just a little longer.


End file.
